


Undone

by heavenbows



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Drabble, F/M, female dunmer listener, making murder sexy again, non-dragonborn listener
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 12:53:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14285349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavenbows/pseuds/heavenbows
Summary: Cicero giggled – but he also smirked, cold and dark as the Void itself, eyes that were usually the colour of chocolate flashing, just for a moment, pitch black.





	Undone

**Author's Note:**

> Found this buried in my Google docs and decided to post it over here. I'm considering doing something full-length with these two.

It was all too easy to think of Cicero as a child, especially when he capered and giggled and then came snuggling up to her for a cuddle. That was doubtless what the others saw – and then they stopped looking, assuming they had the measure of him.

Kyra saw more, though, because she knew that there was more to Cicero than a gibbering madman. It wasn’t just his flashes of sanity – although they were the most telling sign, and they were coming more frequently these days – it was other, smaller things, too.

Cicero giggled – but he also smirked, cold and dark as the Void itself, eyes that were usually the colour of chocolate flashing, just for a moment, pitch black. He would smirk like that after a kill, as the blood spatters dried on his cheeks like freckles and his hair was ruffled and his chest rose and fell in pants from the adrenaline rush of spilling blood.

Still insane, for the moment, but by no means anything like a child.

“ _Listener_ ,” he hissed, voice low and husky but still retaining that half-hysterical edge. He laughed – a single ha – and danced close to her, hands reaching for hers and pulling her close.

“Listener,” he said again, but this was a whisper, almost a prayer (and Cicero was nothing if not, in his own way, pious), and then he kissed her.

For a moment she half-remembered a line from an Imperial play she’d read – gods, years ago, some soppy thing, but there was a line about touching hands and kisses and she struggled for a moment to bring it to mind, but the dubious merits of an Imperial playwright were nothing compared to the Imperial currently intertwined with her, and she let it go.

Breathless, they broke apart, and Cicero giggled and tucked his face against her neck and just like that the moment had passed. They were left in a room of blood and the only eyes that flashed black were those of the corpse they had so recently sent to the Void, his face a tragedy mask of shock and horror and his eyes staring, unseeing, into the abyss for which he was bound.


End file.
